"I am flying to Atlanta tonight, and I have ample room on my plane for a passenger," he told her. "You will fly with me."
Wealthy men did not offer gardeners rides on private jets, Liling thought. Not that he was offering; the way he sounded it was more like he was ordering her to come along. But instead of feeling afraid or intimidated by Jaus, she felt immediately better. If only she could confide in him. Something inside her whispered that he would be a friend she could go to for anything.
"You can trust Valentin, Lili." Luisa said. "He'll look out for you."
Liling gnawed at her bottom lip. She had no more time, and leaving Chicago on a private plane would virtually guarantee that no one would track her. "I would be so grateful. Mr. Jaus, thank you. When are you leaving?"
"I only stopped in to say good-bye to Luisa."
"Good-bye, so long, farewell, and off-weeder-stain, or whatever it is your folks say, Valentin." Luisa said. "Now go on and get out of here, both of you."
Jaus opened the door and gestured toward the outside hall. "Shall we?"
By now, Kyan thought, his masters would know he had left China without their permission. He doubted the priests would send anyone after him—they would have the proof that she lived, and would wish her dead almost as much as he did—but he was taking no chances. They had lied to him, claiming she had been killed during the storm, but deep inside he had known she still lived.
Not for long.
"I'm so sorry you missed your cousin," the nurse said, her gaze roaming his face with somewhat dazzled admiration. She had touched the girl recently; her scent was all over her hands. "Liling wasn't feeling well, and had to go home early. Do you have her address?"
"Yes." Kyan never needed an address. "Thank you."
He tracked the girl's scent from the nurses' station to a shower room at the back of the hospital, where he put his hand against the still-wet tile in one stall. Among other things, the water told him that the girl had been the last to use it.
He stood in the shower for several minutes, his head bowed, the veins on his arms popping out as he flattened his hands against the tile walls and absorbed everything he could about her.
Kyan saw a bag she had carried with her for many years. Inside he knew there were three changes of clothing. Three sets of identification. Three wigs. Money. Keys. A book. Between the pages, a dried, pressed pink flower with brown-spotted leaves. That was all she had thought about while washing in here. She must have known that he was coming for her.
Of course she knew. Who else would she hide from?
When the walls and floor of the shower were bone-dry, he stepped out and inspected the locker room. On the floor in front of the lockers he found a folded map of the United States. She had handled it just before leaving; he could still smell and feel the faint, damp impressions her fingers had left on it. She had taken a red pen and traced a route to a city called Atlanta in the southern part of the country.
As Kyan left the shower room, he followed the girl's trail to a room guarded by an armed man sitting and reading a magazine. Some rainwater had been tracked across the waxed tile floor, and Kyan glanced down at it as he walked past the guard. Infinitely tiny beads of water streamed toward the guard, running up the side of his shoe and sock and sinking into his skin.
Kyan watched from the corner as the guard grimaced and adjusted his belt, and then stood, his hand pressed to the crotch of his trousers. He made as if to use the radio clipped to his belt, but then his eyes widened and he ran into a rest-room a few doors down from the patient's room.
The amount of water Kyan had sent into the man's body wouldn't harm him, but he would spend at least ten minutes emptying his painfully full bladder and bowels.
The patient sleeping inside the room was a bald black female with bandaged hands and dozens of scars on her face and head. She opened her eyes and watched him as he locked the door and approached the bed.
"You're too late." She regarded him with damp, hostile eyes. "She's gone, and I won't tell you anything."
"I know." Kyan gently put one finger against her cheek, following the path of her last tear. "This will."
Chapter 5
Alexandra Keller hated flying. Even in this luxurious, leather-upholstered pit of decadence her lover called his private plane, she was all nerves. After they were airborne, she paced the length of the cabin until she knew she was getting on Michael's and Phillipe's nerves. Finally she sat down and fiddled with a small glass of white wine.
"I can't even eat peanuts anymore," she said to no one in particular. "I really liked those honey-roasted ones in the little packets. Being a blood-dependent immortal with an atrophied digestive system sucks."
"We need a lab on the plane, don't we?" Michael turned to Phillipe, his seneschal. "See to it."
The big, brutal-looking Kyn nodded. "As soon as we return, master."
"Hey. I don't have to be working all the time." Alex informed them airily. "There are plenty of other things that make me happy besides medicine."
Phillipe leaned forward, the yellow eyes in his scarred face intent on her face. "Are any of these things on the plane?"
"Well, him." She pointed at her lover. "And you, when you're not slaving for him. I like lots of things, you know. Like…" She looked around the cabin. "All right. God damn it. We need a lab on the plane." She got up and went back to pacing.
Cyprien came after her. "Alexandra, you cannot do this for six hours. Come and sit down."
"You're right." She grabbed his hand. "Excuse us, Phil." She dragged Michael back to the rear sleeping compartment and closed the door. "Just how unstable did John smell to you? Slightly depressed unstable, bipolar unstable, incoming-psychotic-episode unstable, pending-suicide-attempt unstable, what?"
"I cannot compare it to anything else." Michael shook his head. "I have never encountered such a scent change. I think I could also be wrong. Alexandra. It is why I did not wish to say anything to you. Your brother is not like other humans. He is… a complicated man."
"A complicated pain in my ass." She went over and flopped on the round bed, staring at the ceiling.
"It could be an effect of what happened to him in Ireland," he continued. "Elizabeth did feed on him. She may have had sex with him."
"Michael."
"I know you do not care to hear that, but John is no longer a priest—"
"I just have one more question for you."
"Chérie?"
She tilted her head and watched her reflection do the same. "Has that mirror always been up there?"
"Oui." He walked over to the bed.
She studied how she looked on the bed. The round mirror, fixed to the ceiling above her, reflected the entire mattress. "Funny that I never noticed it before now."
"Merci." He knelt in front of her, his long fingers gently sliding the skirt of her dress up her thighs.
Alex lifted her head to glare at him. "That's why you like me to be on top when we fly. So you can watch. You pervert."
He smiled a little. "That is one reason." He pulled her panties down to her knees and pressed her thighs wider.
"Wait a minute." She tried to sit up, and then her spine dissolved as he put his open mouth against her sex. "Wait. God. Michael."
Her lover did not wait, but used his tongue to part her labia and lick the sensitive, more delicate flesh within. When she bucked against the explicit kiss, he took hold of her hips and held her in place.
"I don't want… I'm not… damn it." Alex couldn't catch her breath, not while she was watching him in the mirror, his long, white-streaked dark hair painting her thighs, his mouth moving against her as he licked and sucked. "I am not coming." She was going to come any second.
Michael raised his head to look at her, the amber rings in his eyes wide, his pupils slits. His fangs elongated, and then he brought his mouth down sharply, sinking them into her mound, dragging his tongue over her clit as he bit down.
Alex screamed as she came, convulsing, and shook uncontrollably as she felt him feed from her sex, his tongue working over her, forcing her back up and over again, and then he stood, his cock in his hand, and crouched over her, feeding the long, blunt shaft into her body, pushing and grunting as he took her, his lips covering hers, her blood and fluids on his tongue as he fucked her mouth and her pussy.
Alex forgot about the mirror and the rest of the unimportant universe until some time later, when Michael rolled away to lie panting and sweaty beside her.
"I like that mirror," she said, groping with her hand until she found his. "Thank you."
"My pleasure, chérie."
They cuddled for a while. Alex usually liked that part—neither one of them had ever been cuddlers, except with each other—but even the afterglow of unexpected sex couldn't hold her in its dreamy grip for long.
Michael watched her as she pulled up her panties and straightened her dress. "I could tie you to the bed, you know."
"No, you can't. It's round and you don't have any rope." She left him there and went out to the cabin. Phillipe looked at her, his expression diplomatically bland. "Sorry about that. Cyprien has got to soundproof that compartment."
He shrugged. "I used the headphones."
When Michael came out, he made her sit down with him and his seneschal. "No more pacing. Phillipe has collected some research on the history of this mission John found. You may find it interesting."
"Historical research. Terrific." She yawned. "Buckle me in if I get too excited."
Phillipe opened his laptop and turned it so Michael and Alex could see the screen. "This is a map of the hills of Monterey that I look from Google Earth." He pointed to a secluded spot that appeared to be empty land hemmed in by acres of trees. "This is where your brother says the Brethren were."
